


Sinew Frail and Feeble Soul

by whatacartouchebag



Series: Fair Game Week 2020 [5]
Category: RWBY
Genre: M/M, fairgameweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23228014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatacartouchebag/pseuds/whatacartouchebag
Summary: Day Five Challenge - ComfortQrow's body had probably been fighting it for days already. And he hadn't told anyone about it.Green eyes closed as the sigh fell from him, bringing with it the tired smile.“Stubborn old bird...”
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Fair Game Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665535
Comments: 8
Kudos: 113





	Sinew Frail and Feeble Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Next up, round five! Gods, it's hard to think this challenge is nearly over; it's been such a fun experience to write for all of these days.
> 
> So! Rather than my traditional style of hurt/comfort, it's time for a round of good ol' sickness comfort. Because it's always better to have someone comfort you and help you feel better when you're sick.

The weary groan slipped from him, heavy in the cool air. Green eyes closed briefly as he pulled the door closed behind him, entirely thankful to everything in the world that he was finally  _ home _ . Home after a day where he wanted little else than to curl up in a hot shower and think of nothing but a blissful sleep.

To think of no more missions, of political talks, of plans or briefings, of trying to force himself to push through it all, of no more battles along Mantle's border. Though, his tired mind conceded, the Grimm skirmishes had done wonders to help revive him at the time; physical activity felt good. Needed, after a draining day.

Ready to face it all over again, at the crack of dawn the following morning.

_ That _ thought got him scrubbing a hand across tired eyes, and dragging fingertips through short hair as he made his way further into his apartment. He all but bee-lined to the kitchen, already reaching for a mug and turning on the kettle, as if on autopilot. Something hot and liquid would do him wonders in the brief moment before sleep coiled around him for good.

He stood there, silently, for a moment, fingers stilling on the counter as murky realisation snuck into his thoughts. Brows furrowed and he turned to glance across a shoulder, actually focusing on the world behind him.

It was all  _ too _ quiet.

No, he had been expecting something else entirely, and his feet were already pulling him from his place, walking past the couch with a cursory glance. He heard no shower running, and had spied no sleeping body waiting for him on soft cushions, and it wasn't common for the huntsman in mind to sleep during the day unless a mission had particularly drained him. Even then, it really only took a day or so to reset his sleeping schedule, and Clover  _ knew _ he had no such mission like that in the last week or so.

Or perhaps, he was merely being overly concerned and he'd stepped out for a moment.

The thought was dashed when he peeked into the bedroom, and saw a mess of laundry strewn across both bed and floor. The sigh that fell from him was of deep exasperation, and now he  _ really _ wondered what the huntsman had been up to that day.

Well, there was nothing for it, he decided.

Tea could wait for now.

He reached for the first few articles of clothing, pulling them from the floor and at least getting them onto the bed. It wasn't until he pulled at the sleeve of a familiar jacket, that he realised it felt leaden with something, and he carefully unfolded it from where it lay.

The raven lay tangled within its confines, and he almost laughed softly at the sight of the bird sleeping within it, the warm smile crossing his lips.

“You lazy sod...” he murmured, crouching down next to it.

Fingers brushed across the bird's back, scritching lightly, and the pinch found his brow.

“... Qrow,” he called his name firmly.

The bird stirred faintly, breathing light from where it lay, but was otherwise unmoving. Fingers scooped up the small creature, and the softest sound slipped from it at the disturbance.  _ Now _ the concern lodged in his throat, and Clover felt just how warm that little body was.

“Qrow, can you turn back for me?” he pressed, fingers running down the bird's back.

There was no response save for the light breathing from the small creature, and the operative sat on the edge of the bed, everything else forgotten as he cradled the raven. Green eyes skirted over it's form, fingers running down it's body as he gently inspected it. It didn't feel like there were any injuries, or tender spots. It didn't feel like anything at all.

He really didn't want to think the bird had flown itself into a window, though he did have to idly wonder if it was something that had happened in the past. Given where he'd found it, it seemed highly unlikely  _ this _ time.

And it was so warm in his arms...

“ _ Qrow. _ ” Clover called to him, fingers reaching to the underside of the bird and finding one of those warm little talons. Worry was stuck firmly in his chest, and he gave one of those toes a light pinch, stirring the bird to wakefulness.

It shuffled in his arms, wings wanting freedom from the brief pain as the half-hearted cawing of protest began softly.

“Easy, easy now,” he soothed. “You need to turn back. Can you do that? I need to know what happened.”

The bird settled, head curling back into the curve of the man's elbow. There was a beat of time where Clover thought it had drifted off again, but the soft caw fell from it.

In a rush of scattering feathers, Clover almost had to scramble to keep his hold on the huntsman as he appeared once more, suddenly strewn facedown across his lap.

“Qrow!”

Clover had whipped an arm across his waist, almost pinning him to where he lay in an attempt to stop him from sliding to the floor. He was all but boneless as the operative held him tight, utterly glad he'd chosen to sit down.

It was a bit awkward between his sudden weight and his position, but Clover scooped his arms under him, hoisting them both up as he held him bridal style for a moment. It was like holding a dead weight in his arms; there was no assistance nor signs of stirring from the huntsman once more. Whilst it had been a worrying sight as the bird, seeing the same thing from the man himself was all the more concerning.

Clover turned, disregarding the state of the place entirely, to lay him gently on the bed, one hand falling to his forehead. No wonder the raven had been warm; the huntsman was running an incredible fever. His breathing came short and shallow, and red eyes flickered open at the soft pressure against him.

He focused, or tried to focus, on the bleary image of the operative before him, and fingers reached up to the hand on his forehead, curling weakly about his wrist. Warmth, wonderful warmth, the man was always so warm...

“... hey...” he all but sighed, the sound a bare breath on his tongue.

“You're burning up,” Clover told him bluntly, all thoughts of his own weariness shunted to the side.

The weak smile found those lips and red eyes fluttered closed once more.

“... don't feel... so great...” he murmured, voice barely there. Fingers curled tight to his shoulder, dragging him back to the waking world once more.

“Stay with me now. How long ago? What happened?”

Qrow tried his hardest to focus on those green eyes above him, but it was hard when all he wanted to do was slip immediately back into a blissful slumber. It felt fuzzy to think and it was like a blanket had been thrown over his senses. He blinked languidly up at the man, feeling fingers tighten about his shoulder every so often. It helped him focus a little.

“... felt... felt funny a while ago...” he breathed, closing his eyes as his breathing felt laboured already. “... same thing... Weiss had maybe...”

Clover almost wanted to smack himself in the forehead with stark realisation. The two of them been on a mission together a week ago. It was only the very next day the poor girl had all but collapsed in the snow as sickness struck her, firmly confining her to her bed as she rode it out.

Either Qrow's body had been fighting it off until it couldn't any longer, or he'd gotten it from somewhere else, but the damn sickness  _ had _ been doing the rounds at the Academy again. He supposed he was just lucky enough to have dodged  _ that _ particular bullet each time.

The huntsman on the other hand...

A soft string of coughing brought him back to the present, and Qrow dragged an arm up to hack into the crook of his elbow, rolling away from the man as it wracked his aching body. A hand ran soothingly along his spine at the action, rubbing deep as he waited for it to settle.

Clover almost felt a little lost in the moment, watching the huntsman as the wretched sound overtook him, stealing the breath from him. It was one thing to see him when he was hurt in the field, but this...

Qrow looked utterly weak. Almost feeble as he lay there, unable to breathe properly.

His breath dragged from him, ragged and open-mouthed as he curled up on himself a little. His chest hurt in a way that he really didn't appreciate, and it felt like someone had barbed him straight behind the sternum, fingers reaching up to curl into his shirt there. Green eyes stared worriedly at the action as fingers continued their soothing motion.

“We need to get you up. Get something warm into you,” he told him gently.

Qrow's stomach almost turned with the mere suggestion. “... don't think I could eat... at the moment...”

“Tea, then. You need to stay hydrated at the very least.” He leant in, pressing a gentle kiss to a temple. “Don't make me bully you.”

That earned him a weak huff. “... you would anyway...”

“I would anyway,” he smiled down at him. “Come on, let's get you sitting up.” Hands curled about the warmth of that body, pulling the huntsman onto his back once more. The almost aching groan found his ears, and Clover bit back the concerned sound of his own at the sight. He'd never seen him like this before. Even when he'd been caught off-guard or hurt on the field, his reaction was always to fight back immediately. To keep going. To push on with every ounce of his strength.

This was... the complete opposite.

He'd fallen down in a crumpled heap and stayed exactly where he'd lay until the operative found him. Not a comforting thought at all.

Pillows were stuffed at the bedhead, making it a little easier for him to stay upright once he got there, and Clover tucked hands under his arms.

“You've got to help me for this part, alright?” he told him simply. Red eyes stared back at him, feeling for all the world so heavy. But he knew he had to try a little, just like Clover was.

Hell, if he were still on his own or travelling, he probably  _ would _ have just stayed where he lay, letting his body absorb what healing it could from sleep, and  _ then _ decided on movement and sustenance.

But Clover was just like Ruby, or Tai, and they were all relentless in their pursuit of seeing their charges get better. Tai himself was maybe a little more gentle about it, but Ruby was outright determined to feed someone and see to their every need until whatever ailed them finally left.

Or infected her. Whatever came first.

Even then, she'd still drag herself around to ensure whoever she was looking after was in better health than she was.

The thought brought the faint smile to his lips as he shuffled lightly, hands pressing to the bed beneath him as he slowly pushed himself upright. His strength felt like it was sapped from him, and he was downright glad for the arms supporting him. There was a disorienting moment when he was bodily moved further up the bed; strong arms propping him up against the pillows before letting him flop against them once more.

The effort of moving left him almost breathless, and not at all in a way he liked.

Red eyes fluttered closed as he just sat there for a moment, feeling some of the pressure in his chest settle. He was trying his damnedest not to start coughing again, but it was hard when every single breath felt like it was catching on the back of his throat, sharp and raw.

Warmth curled about his cheek for a moment, and he blearily stared back at the operative as he stroked a thumb gently to flushed skin.

“Alright, tea. Don't go anywhere,” he told him gently, placing a soft kiss to a forehead before slipping away entirely. Qrow would've laughed at him, had he the ability to do so.

“... not planning on it...” he breathed to himself as the operative vanished, red eyes closing once more.

Clover returned to the kitchen, reaching for a second mug and different canister. Suddenly the weight of his day seemed almost trivial, and he buried the thought in the back of his mind as the crease found his brow. Already, he was thinking of what would be needed to help Qrow ride out the worst of this storm.

Everyone had their own methods and remedies for the seasonal sickness that hit the Academy occasionally; more often than not, it always came down to the usual practices though. Staying warm to help burn through the fever, eating little but often, keeping hydrated. Common sense still prevailed in most cases, and he spooned some of the tea into a waiting pot.

He was sure this was all the huntsman had contracted,  _ especially  _ since he'd reminded Clover about that mission with Weiss not so long ago.  _ And _ he'd been around her teammates since then, too. If they were carrying it, then it was no wonder Qrow had all but collapsed in a heap after so long.

His brow furrowed as hands stilled on the counter.

Qrow's body had probably been fighting it for  _ days  _ already.

_ And  _ he hadn't told anyone about it.

Green eyes closed as the sigh fell from him, bringing with it the tired smile.

“Stubborn old bird...” the words slipped from him, affectionate and hardly a scold in their tone. He poured hot water into the waiting pot, watching as leaves swirled for a moment, unfurling. Fingers collected about the two mugs and he headed back to where his charge lay.

He wasn't at all surprised to find him dozing somewhat lightly upon his return, and Clover could only allow the smile to cross his lips as he placed everything down on the bedside table, sitting once more at the edge of the bed.

Green eyes traced over his form, the way breath came shallow to him, barely even stirring from where he lay. One hand had crawled up to his sternum again, curling into fabric, wringing no small amount of concern from the operative. If he'd been coughing enough for it to start hurting, then he'd definitely been hiding it for the last couple of days at least.

Brows furrowed at the thought. Their mission schedules hadn't coincided much in the last few days, and even their time off usually ended up with one of them either already sleeping upon the other's return, absent entirely, or very nearly about to head to bed.

And he still hadn't noticed, which, in his mind, was even worse. Qrow also hadn't said a word about it, probably feeling like he'd be little else than a burden if he did, and possibly doing the bare minimum to fight it off. Clover bit back the sigh on his tongue as he sat on the edge of the bed, green eyes never leaving the huntsman. He'd have plenty of time to grouse about it later, he knew, but for now he had far more important things to attend to.

He reached out, gently brushing back a dark fringe, feeling silken strands between his fingers. The huntsman drew a deeper breath, stirring at the soft touch, and red eyes fluttered open once more. He languidly turned, focusing on the operative again, and the faint smile found his lips.

“... didn't go anywhere...” he murmured. Clover felt his lips pull into a warm smile, and he leant forward to press a lingering kiss to his forehead.

“Look at that, he  _ can _ follow instructions,” came the easy taunt as he drew back, and it pulled the soft groan from the other.

“... only when it's you... and I'm dying...”

Clover let the soft breath of a laugh roll from him as hands busied themselves with tea and mugs. He'd probably have to let Qrow's sit for a while longer to cool, but it didn't stop him from taking a short sip of his own.

“... black..?”

Red eyes were blearily watching him, blinking languidly.

“Green. Better for you at the moment,” he replied simply.

The silent breath of a sigh slipped from the huntsman and eyes closed briefly. He just felt so utterly exhausted. Boneless. Like he could slip back into a dreamless sleep and be lost to it for an age.

If only for a blissful moment, then he'd be alright.

Warmth pressed to his forehead once more, and he slivered red eyes open at the gentle intrusion.

“No drifting off, not until you've got something in your stomach,” Clover told him softly. The huntsman held his gaze for a moment before he gave a heavier sigh, the sound dragging from him as he placed his hands to the bed. It was on shaky arms and with the pinch of something tight in his chest that he pulled himself forward a little.

Hands curled about his shoulders, keeping him steady as he sat upright, away from the pillows. Green eyes followed every single movement and shift of muscle, watching him carefully.

Lips parted, and Qrow forced himself to keep his breathing steady, lest he all but double over as coughing wracked his body once more.

“... alright... tea...”

“It's still hot,” Clover warned him softly.

“... the hotter the better...” came the reply, and he swallowed lightly, glancing over at the mug. The operative could only smile faintly at him. Well, at least now he was being stubborn in a productive way.

Fingers slipped away from a shoulder, collecting the still steaming mug. Qrow reached for it, curling his own fingers around it and savouring the heat that spilled onto them, not realising how cold his own hands actually were. Clover slipped his hand away to rest underneath the base of the mug, lightly supporting it; he'd seen how shaky the huntsman was, and he didn't trust his luck to not spill it all over himself just yet.

Qrow swallowed again, feeling the scratchy tightness in his throat, and he almost winced at the sensation. It was like a shard of glass was firmly lodged in place and nothing could shift it. His brow pinched faintly as he brought the mug to his lips. It  _ was _ hot, just as he'd been told, but it was a blessed kind of burn as he savoured the taste.

It felt downright heavenly against his throat and he nearly melted a little where he sat, finding relief touch him for the first time in hours. He took another sip, and the liquid heat seared away some of the glass.

“Better?”

“... better,” he told him softly, almost surprised that the scratchy note in his voice had cleared up somewhat. He tested the friendship with his body a little, clearing his throat softly, and letting his breath out slowly. No coughing. A good start.

He graciously took another long draw from the mug, swallowing blissful heat down his aching throat and Clover placed it to the side once more.

Gods above and below, but it already felt vastly better than an hour ago. Perhaps he really had to invest in this taking-care-of-himself thing more often.

Fingers curled back about his shoulder, still warm from where they held the mug. “Let me know when you want more,” he told him softly, slipping briefly up to brush along his neck. If the man was showing any hesitation about catching this thing of his, he barely showed it. Hell, with his luck, he probably never caught the damn thing anyway.

Green eyes were watching him carefully, and a dark brow raised in returning question. Clover, realising it, glanced away for a moment, faint smile on his lips.

“Sorry, just thinking...”

“... dangerous habit,” came the murmur.

“So I've been told,” he smirked at him. “What happened to force the transformation?”

It took a handful of time for Qrow's mind to catch up to what he was being asked, and he glanced away himself, glad his skin was flushed from sickness, rather than the rampant embarrassment that now ran through him. He swallowed through a thick throat, glad that the shards of glass had settled once more.

“... happens sometimes... when I pass out,” he explained quietly. Red eyes flicked back up to Clover's for a moment, before his brow knit and he stared away again. “... falling down... kind of feels like flying, I guess... and it's the last thing my mind feels.”

There was a moment of brief silence before the penny dropped for the operative, and he couldn't help the breathy laugh that slipped from him. Qrow wanted to sink through the floor.

“... s'not funny,” he groused, feeling heat gather at his cheeks. Fingers reached up to run through his hair gently.

“No, but it  _ is _ adorable,” the man told him firmly. “Here I thought you'd simply thrown a tantrum and upended the laundry everywhere; not dropped it all where you stood.” The quiet laugh returned to him, and he slipped his hand down to a warm cheek. Qrow kept his gaze pointedly away from the man, and he couldn't stop the faint murmur of sound when lips pressed gently to his forehead.

“... I was  _ planning  _ to get it all done... before you came home,” came the breath of words. Clover almost felt his chest ache with how sad the words sounded; the poor huntsman sounded more like an embarrassed child than a fully grown man, and his thumb stroked gently.

“And you did well for a dying man,” he told him, smile easy upon his lips. “But next time,  _ tell me _ so you don't have to push yourself so hard.”

Qrow finally stared back at him, blinking at him, as if the concept sounded foreign to his ears. His brow held that faint crease and refused to let go, and Clover refused to sigh at him for it. Lips parted to reply to the statement, before he glanced down once more.

No, Clover had a point. He couldn't rely on old habits and older methods nowadays. He was allowed to let others – more than just his family – past his tightly sealed shell, not just when it suited him these days.  _ Especially _ in times of need, his mind shot, and he refused to grumble at the subtle and bitter reminder.

He wanted to sigh, but he didn't like the way his throat was feeling again, and he gestured to the mug once more.

Clover collected it without a second thought and fingers found their way about the hot mug. He cleared his throat softly, taking a short sip from it, savouring the feeling for a moment.

“... I know... and I also know... how hard we've  _ both _ been working lately,” he explained softly. “... didn't want you... having to worry about one thing... on top of everything else.”

The operative wanted to shake his head at him, but he settled for the quiet sigh at the words. He could understand the sentiment behind them, and they  _ had _ both been running ridiculous hours lately. He leant forward, pressing his forehead to the huntsman's.

“I appreciate the help, but you don't have to make it sound like a favour owed to a house guest,” he laughed softly, wringing more of that colour to already dark cheeks. The response had him wanting to laugh further at the huntsman; it seemed that sickness seemed to bring out the man's childish nature. Perhaps he'd been travelling with his young charges for far too long, he thought in idle amusement.

Qrow gave a heavy drag of a sigh, closing his eyes and feeling bone-weary.

“... I feel way too terrible to be arguing with you,” he groused softly, draining the rest of his mug. It felt incredibly good against his throat, and he was damned if he wasn't going to practically live off the stuff for the next week or so.

“How is she, anyway?”

The soft question had him staring back up at the man, and it took him a handful of time for his sick-addled brain to catch up with what he'd asked.

“... Weiss? … she's nearly back to her old self again,” he replied simply as the mug was plucked from his fingers. Clover gave the faint sigh of relief as he went about pouring another one for him; Qrow resisted the urge to scrunch his nose, knowing it would be overbrewed by now. Not that he would be able to taste the difference.

“That's good to hear.” Green eyes met his again as the mug was placed back into waiting hands. Well, at the very least, it was something warm to hold and drink. “What symptoms did she have?”

Qrow had to think about it for a moment, and brows raised tiredly. “... uh... all of this,” he gestured lightly to himself, “... headaches, weakness, fever... exhaustion... sore throat and a nasty cough,” he rattled off, clearing his throat lightly. In the back of his mind, he was kind of glad for the constant talk; it helped him focus and stay awake. Maybe not alert, but it gave his mind something other to concentrate on instead of wanting to pass out again.

Clover gave a faint hum at that. “Sounds like she just caught the office plague,” he said bluntly.

“... the what?” Qrow asked with a scratchy laugh.

Lips quirked upwards. “It's the friendly term for the seasonal sickness that goes through the Academy occasionally.”

The laugh continued to roll from the huntsman, and he brought a hand up to his mouth, feeling it catch in his throat and tapering off to a sharp round of coughing. Fingers reached for his mug, pulling it free lest it spill across his lap, and sitting it aside once more. Silently grateful for it, Qrow turned away from the man, coughing harshly into the crook of his elbow once more.

The effort left him breathing hard, his chest hurting, and fingers pressed to his sternum, not even bothering to hide the wince as he bent forwards, near doubling over.

“... lasts... for a week... right..?” he ground out, barely above a whisper. A warm hand slipped across his shoulder, running gently across his spine as he gently coaxed his body to breathe normally once again.

“Give or take,” Clover told him simply. “It depends how you fight it.  _ And _ how long you try and hide it.”

Red eyes closed at the not-so-subtle jab and the aching groan left him. He was never going to live it down, and he knew it. Clover really  _ was _ like Tai and Ruby. Especially when it came to the gently bullying part of the deal.

“... alright, alright... I get it...” he breathed, keeping his breathing steady. “... you can stop trying to rub it in,  _ dad.” _

The soft laugh fell from Clover as the huntsman gave a shaky sigh, pushing himself slowly upright once more. Hands still lay upon his shoulders, keeping him balanced as green eyes searched for any further signs of discomfort.

“Well, do the right thing, and I won't have to use the dad voice on you, deal?”

The smile curled easily onto lips, and Qrow's glanced back at him. “... what if I like you bossing me around?”

Fingers reached up to messy dark hair, ruffling it thoroughly. “Now I  _ know _ you're sick,” he laughed. “Come on, let's get you under the covers.” The huntsman was about to protest when Clover put all end to it. “If you say anything else about the laundry, I'll make you laugh again.”

Red eyes ducked away with a warm smile. “... I take back every nice thing I've ever said to you...” he breathed, barely above a whisper, yet there was no venom in it's affectionate tone; all thoughts of arguing were gone from him. It was a mean tactic on Clover's behalf, and he knew from experience that the man would downright bully him to get his way at times. Particularly now, whilst he was sick and unable to really fight back.

The heavy sigh rolled from him, dragging against a dry throat.

“... fine, you win,” he breathed.

“Good, arms up.”

He glanced up, gingerly doing as he was told, as Clover tugged an oversized sweater over his head. A mess of dark hair popped back into view as it settled about him, almost swimming on his frame. Hands snuck out of the large sleeves, reaching up to brush his hair back somewhat.

With more than a little effort, and steadying hands to help him, he managed to shuffle himself under the covers, falling bonelessly against the pillows with a weary sigh, red eyes slipping shut.

Gods, but movement just felt terrible.

There was a shift of motion on the mattress, and a flutter of his fringe as Clover curled in next to him. Red eyes skirted over him, concern light in their depths, even as a warm arm snaked about his waist and pulled him closer.

“... you're not... worried about getting sick?” he breathed.

A non-committal sound met his ears, eyes already closed as he pressed his lips to a warm forehead.

“Think I've got better luck than that,” came the easy reply.

Qrow felt the faint smile cross his lips as he allowed himself to relax a little. Red eyes closed as he settled further against the warmth of the man, letting the comforting feeling wash over him. Well, he realised, if Clover caught it from him, at least that meant he could tease the hell out of him.

His smile curled as the quiet sound fell from him, feeling fingers run soothing circle upon his back, and drawing him ever closer to that blissful slumber.

“... course you do...”


End file.
